Lynley Lys




Looking Glass

I light before you an altar,
thin wisps of burning myrrh.
Down the corridor
I wander, in your shadow,
behind you, in your wake.
I linger, twisting the notes
of an uneasy waltz.
I dream I walk with you in death.
How I set you up,
give you your place.
I reconstruct you
in sand, dirt, twigs,
sounds,
the fragments of my psyche.
In one life
you lived three,
as will I.
You are mentor,
mother,
reflection.
One day I will lean into myself
and fall through the mirror
to you.







Rising

I must drag you from
the death you crave
the one you sought
and tasted, ripe
silent moon
storms your seas
witching fog strand
severs its rays
worm tendril lovers
embrace you,
O decaying blood rose
I will penetrate
the decomposing peat
on which you lay your head
seize hold of you
pluck roots from
dark and clinging soil
blanch moon
shriek, slice the night
Ophelia, I'll share your grave.
raven night
awake
the tide awaits us.







Expectations

She dwells
in Ms. Havisham's
mummified
wedding room.
The funeral parlor house
is bereft of life,
save the yellowed
lace
cobwebs.
Even spiders
have ceased to roam
its dusty corridors.
A barren dwelling
breeds no children.
The girl
is prematurely aged,
in her youth
a bitter old maid.
No love! No love!
An empty promise.
With a hundred years of solitude
she will inherit
the desert wind.




Copyright © Lynley Lys - Rabbit1134@aol.com








road of shadows